Recall To Forget To Recall
by Shadowfax27
Summary: EricRyan Mild SLASH! AU after Nailed. Ryan Wolfe pays Charlene Hartford, the woman who shot him with a nail gun, an unexpected visit in prison. A Belated Thanksgiving piece. COMPLETE!
1. If Recalling Were Forgetting

**TITLE: Recall To Forget To Recall – 1 of 2**

**AUTHOR & BETA:** Shadowfax27 (Yeah, mistakes make me human…)

**CHALLENGE: **#16 – Thanks

**DISCLAIMER:** We would've seen this happen if I owned them…

**SPOILERS: **CSI: Miami - Nailed, Season 4.

**RATING:** PG-13

**CHARACTERS:** Ryan Wolfe/? (Guess Who) and Charlene Hartford (You know? The woman who shot Ryan with a nail gun?)

**A/N: **AU after Nailed. It's a bit angsty, but I think the end more than makes up for it. You'll see… I suppose this could be considered as a Belated Thanksgiving piece.

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Chapter 1 – If Recalling Were Forgetting

Women's State Penitentiary

Thanksgiving Day 2006

Miami, Florida

A heavy metallic gate slides open with a roar, revealing a prison-garbed blonde, head bowed down as she's escorted by a woman police officer, who ushers her into the tiny room before stepping back out. Behind the prisoner, the gate roars once again as it slides along its worn-out track before clanging to a thunderous crash, the female guard locking it securely before stepping aside to allow the blonde and her visitor some privacy.

Lifting her head finally, the blonde's eyes land on a boyish face that she hasn't seen in nearly a year – a year since…

She quickly dismisses the thought and unconsciously straightens her back, her chin tilting up in defiance as her hardened eyes look down at the young CSI, who is currently sitting just a few feet ahead of her, hands folded anxiously on top of the table.

"Officer Wolfe," she greets him with steely coldness, bitterness tinting her voice.

"Charlene," Ryan nods once before motioning for her to take the seat across from him.

She does so after a moment's hesitation, pulling out the chair with her cuffed hands before slumping tiredly onto the seat. She doesn't wait for pleasantries. She knows they are too far past that. She just wants to get this over with, wants to know what he has come here for.

"Why are you here?" she now asks, her words tumbling out in an exasperated blend of cold curiosity and bitter regret.

"Because I don't want to remember."

She snorts at that, an air of amusement mixed with disbelief as she shakes her head incredulously, knowing exactly what he's talking about. How could she forget? Even _she_ doesn't want to remember! But she can't exactly choose not to. She's in jail for it for Christ sake!

Every single day that she lives out her handed sentence, she's reminded of her guilt, of the tragic mistake she had a made – a mistake that had injured and very nearly killed a young CSI and put his career in jeopardy. And it's not like she could just move on and fool herself into believing that it didn't happen either, that she is innocent, and that the past year in this hellhole of an existence had been just a terrible dream.

"And you think coming here would accomplish that?" she spits more than asks, giving him a pointed look that is both sarcastic and expectant at the same time.

Ryan flinches inwardly. He knows he's not exactly making sense. Most people who want to put the hurts of their past behind them don't usually come running back to the place where they've been hurt, let alone try to make contact with those who have hurt them.

But Ryan is unlike most people.

And most people are definitely _not_ Ryan Wolfe.

He wants closure from the pain, yes.

But he also wants to offer something else – forgiveness… and maybe even a small slice of hope.

He has turned this issue in his head every which way he could imagine, and each time, he's managed to come back to the same conclusion. And after almost a full year of indecisiveness, of vacillating between "should he?" or "should he not?", he has finally gathered his nerves enough to set up this meeting to speak to the woman who had pulled the trigger on that nail gun, the same woman, who, in her horror, had left him there to die.

He wants to come face to face with the person who had put his life in danger and had given him so much uncertainty about the state of his eyesight, his future… And, ironically, to offer hope to the one who had almost destroyed his career as a CSI.

He's no longer angry or bitter. He had come to accept the consequences of his oversight long ago; had, quite unexpectedly, even taken full responsibility for it. He had settled the whole "whose fault is it?" issue back at the hospital, back when Eric was 'trying' to apologize, to take the primary blame for why this unfortunate incident happened to Ryan.

Now, he could only hope that this awkward reunion with the blonde would grant him that wanted closure, give that painful chapter in his life a definite seal so that he could finally focus on just living in the current, look ahead with relieved confidence without having to worry about ignoring an old scar that just won't be healed, pretending that it doesn't exist, even as it niggled at his insides.

"But I didn't want to forget either."

The answer spills out of his lips like cracked desperation, a tangible whisper of what he, himself, has come to realize as one hell of a perfect irony in hindsight – a painful blessing in disguise.

She almost doesn't hear him, but then he clears his throat nervously and repeats the same answer, still softly, but with more resolve this time, even as his voice rifts ever so slightly under the weight of his emotions.

"I don't want to forget."

She stops cold, then, her expression shifting from one of amused ridicule to bona fide confusion in the blink of an eye. She shakes her head again, settling on an aggravated frown as she leans forward to turn a curious stare at the CSI, her cuffs clacking too loudly as it grazes the surface of the table between them, as if to slice through the leaden silence in the room.

"I don't understand."

She watches him watch her, hardened orbs watching the play of emotions swimming through studious hazel greens. She swears she could almost see the wheels in his head turning, calculating, debating…

He resists the urge to squirm in his seat.

Abruptly, Ryan stands up, the noise from his chair scraping the cold concrete floor, startling her for a moment as she blinks up at him in surprise and bewilderment. Inwardly, he shakes his head and avoids her hawk-like gaze as he moves hurriedly towards the steel exit. He feels the impersonal walls closing in on him all of a sudden, and he wants to get out of there, to escape the now-suffocating space.

God! He should've known that this isn't going to work! He'd waited too long to do this – one-year too long, to the point where jail time has hardened Charlene Hartford enough that she couldn't (wouldn't?) comprehend what he's trying to convey, what he's trying so desperately to unleash from his chest.

No, it was too late…

_He_ is too late.

He reaches the gate in less than four steps, and just as he's about to call the guard's attention to let him out, he hears a pained voice utter a trembling apology.

"I'm sorry," she suddenly concedes, her voice wavering dangerously against her masked restraint, and Ryan stops dead in his tracks. "I'm so sorry, Ryan," she repeats again in a broken whisper as she turns around in her seat this time to face her visitor. "I'm so, so sorry… So sorry…" she sobs repeatedly, tears now staining her cheeks unbidden.

For a moment, Ryan makes no move to leave or to acknowledge her earnest apology as he closes his eyes and leans his head heavily against the cool metal bars, breathing in deep gulps of the chilled prison air as he grips the gate like a lifeline, his knuckles turning ghostly white.

"Sir?" Faintly he hears a woman's voice calling out from somewhere in front of him, and he grimaces, his face twisting up into a frown. "Sir?" the woman's voice comes again, and he forces his eyes open to see the female guard standing in front of him, staring at him with a concerned frown.

"I'm fine," Ryan nods as he smiles thinly, answering her next question before she could ask.

The woman gives him an affirmative and unquestioning nod, and he watches as she returns to her previous post beside the gate. He swallows the dry lump in his throat, and when he feels like he's gotten his emotions under control again, he takes another deep breath before turning around to face Charlene Hartford once more.

She's broken, Ryan knows. He could sense the anguish in her voice, deeply sorrowful with regret. And despite of everything that has happened to him as a result of this woman's foolish and rash actions, he couldn't help but feel sorry for her… and, ironically, grateful at the same time.

Slowly, he walks back to where she's sitting, and he reaches into his jacket pocket to pull out a tiny brown box with a small folded note attached on top. He sets the box gently in front of her, Charlene sniffling and watching his every move intently with bewildered eyes. And when she finally looks back up enquiringly to meet his gaze, Ryan bequeaths her a small but heartfelt smile.

"Happy Thanksgiving."

Without another word, the CSI signals for the guard to let him out. And with the sound of the metal gate roaring along its track, Ryan Wolfe spares one last glance at the still-bewildered blonde, who is still sitting in her chair and now staring back down at the box before her, before walking out of the Women's State Penitentiary for good.

With every step he takes, he feels the burden of the past year fading away, melting into oblivion against the relatively balmy November Miami air. He feels the scars of too many yesterdays healing as he catches an unexpected breeze from the coast. And he couldn't help the relieved smile that's spreading now across his boyishly handsome face, tugging up on his lips as he maneuvers his way across the parking lot to his vehicle, a small bounce coloring his steps ever so slightly.

He stops short when he sees the silhouette of a tall, gorgeous man, leaning casually against the driver's side of his car, arms folded across muscled chest.

"I gather that things went well in there?" he asks more than states, giving him a lopsided grin as he pulls away from the car.

Shaking his head in amusement, Ryan moves to stand in front of the taller man, his lips curling up into a brilliant grin as his eyes beam with unadulterated gladness – relief… at having just obtained closure for the past and now, also, for a brand new slate for the present-future, still blank and gloriously unwritten, as far as he's concerned.

"Let's just say I have a lot to be thankful for," Ryan quips, giving the other man a wily smirk.

"Well, then here's a Happy Thanksgiving to you…"

He finds himself suddenly corralled and enveloped by a pair of strong, possessive arms, warm, full lips covering his mouth in a tender yet hungry kiss. They're both breathless by the time they break apart, foreheads touching.

"Are you ready?" the taller man asks simply, though Ryan thinks his question is three-fold:

Is he ready to get out of the Women's Penitentiary? _Yes._

Is he ready to have this relationship, to take it head on, and to give it all he has to offer? _Aboslutely!_

Is he ready to let go of his fears and insecurities to embark on a new journey, a new life together with his lover? _Most definitely!_

"More than you know," Ryan replies conclusively with an easy wink.

They share another tender kiss before parting ways to pile into Ryan's car, the taller man getting into the driver's side as Ryan slips into the passenger seat next to him, a dazzling smile firmly in place.

He watches as his lover turns on the ignition, backs the car up from its space, and then drive out towards the main entrance, waiting patiently as the large, automated gate slowly slides open to let them out. And just before the driver could put pedal to the metal, Ryan remembers he has one thing left to say.

He reaches over and squeezes the taller man's hand, "Oh, and uh… Eric?"

"Yeah, Babe?" Eric turns to look at his lover expectantly, that trademark smile quirking on his full lips as he waits for the younger man to finish what he has to say before peeling off the driveway.

"Happy Thanksgiving to you too!"

He kisses the back of Ryan's hand and gives it a reassuring kiss. Then, turning his attention back to the road ahead, pressed down hard on the accelerator to speed off into the night, Ryan laughing heartily as Eric never let go of his hand.

-----

**TBC**

**A/N: **Don't ask me where this came from. I've been having an extreme case of typer's block for several weeks now, which isn't helped by the fact that I've been feeling rather depressed lately, hence the angst. I tried to lighten it up some towards the end there, but I'm not sure if it worked. I just wrote this today, so forgive me if the quality is not up to par. I'd love to know what you guys think of this chapter, though.


	2. If Forgetting Were Recalling

**TITLE: Recall To Forget To Recall – 2/2**

**AUTHOR & BETA:** Shadowfax27 (Yeah, mistakes make me human…)

**CHALLENGE: **#16 – Thanks

**DISCLAIMER:** We would've seen this happen if I owned them…

**SPOILERS: **CSI: Miami - Nailed, Season 4.

**RATING:** PG-13

**CHARACTERS:** Ryan Wolfe/? (Guess Who) and Charlene Hartford (You know? The woman who shot Ryan with a nail gun?)

**SUMMARY: **What was in the box that Ryan Wolfe gave Charlene Hartford?

**A/N: **AU after Nailed. This chapter's more like an epilogue, thought it's still a bit angsty. You can blame my depressed plot penguin for that. Again, a Belated Thanksgiving piece.

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Chapter 2 – If Forgetting Were Recalling

"_I'm sorry," she suddenly concedes, her voice wavering dangerously against her masked restraint, and Ryan stops dead in his tracks. "I'm so sorry, Ryan," she repeats again in a broken whisper as she turns around in her seat this time to face her visitor. "I'm so, so sorry… So sorry…" she sobs repeatedly, tears now staining her cheeks unbidden._

_She's broken, Ryan knows. He could sense the anguish in her voice, deeply sorrowful with regret. And despite of everything that has happened to him as a result of this woman's foolish and rash actions, he couldn't help but feel sorry for her… and, ironically, grateful at the same time._

_Slowly, he walks back to where she's sitting, and he reaches into his jacket pocket to pull out a tiny brown box with a small folded note attached on top. He sets the box gently in front of her, Charlene sniffling and watching his every move intently with bewildered eyes. And when she finally looks back up enquiringly to meet his gaze, Ryan bequeaths her a small but heartfelt smile._

"_Happy Thanksgiving."_

_Without another word, the CSI signals for the guard to let him out. And with the sound of the metal gate roaring along its track, Ryan Wolfe spares one last glance at the still-bewildered blonde, who is still sitting in her chair and now staring back down at the box before her, before walking out of the Women's State Penitentiary for good._

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Back in her cell, Charlene Hartford crawls into her bunk bed and lies down tiredly, pretending to go to sleep. She waits until she is certain that her escorting police officer is completely out of sight before sitting up, scurrying towards the head of the slim bed, where the two cold corners of her small cell meets.

She sits down and leans her back against the cement wall, angling herself just so to catch as much of the moon's silvery ray as possible through a small opening that is her cell window. Finally, she takes a deep breath and decides to pull out the tiny brown box that the young CSI had given her without further explanation.

With trembling hands, she opens the lid to find a small plastic replica of a nail – the same type of nail that shot out to penetrate near the former patrol officer's right eye, nearly costing him his eyesight.

Except that this replica is completely white, save for the tinge of what looked to be red paint, coloring the pointed half-inch end, signifying blood.

"_Is this a joke?"_ she wonders, a small frown crinkling her brows at what this unusual 'gift' could mean.

But then she remembers Ryan's last words to her, remembers that heartfelt smile he had bestowed upon her in response to her regret, her admission of guilt.

Belatedly, she realizes that there's still a note attached to the box, and she hurriedly strips the note off from the lid, unfolding it to read the message under the dim light of the moon:

_This nail pierced me with pain and much uncertainty for the better part of a year. _

_It is a reminder of what you've done – of what I no longer want to remember._

_For that, I have forgiven you._

_But this nail also 'pierced' someone's heart, someone whom I've looked at with adoring eyes since I became a CSI._

_It is that ironic reminder that I do not want to forget._

_And for that, I thank you._

_Ryan Wolfe_

She reads the note over and over and over, her eyes quickly filling with tears as she registers for the first time why the young CSI had come to visit her that evening, on Thanksgiving, of all days, when she thought she has nothing left to be thankful for.

Realization tackles her like the rush of early morning shoppers on the morning after Thanksgiving, and she's crying quietly by the time she finally grasps fully what Ryan had been trying to tell her earlier – that getting shot with a nail gun had resulted in two very different consequences: one, physically and emotionally painful as Ryan dealt with the unwanted effects; the other, a wake-up call for whoever that 'someone' is in Ryan's life that has captured his affections, his adoring eyes.

It is only a few seconds later that she finally hears the faint screeching of wheels in the distance, of rubber burning to mark its escape on the unfriendly pavement.

And she knows…

She knows it's _him_.

She knows that Ryan Wolfe has left the premises for good, left her with this plastic sliver of remembrance, of hope that she now cradles in her hands, reminding her of the nail's unlikely twist of fate, it's significance, and what two things it had pierced for the worse and now, ironically, for the better:

Recalling the unfortunate incident in order to forget the pain of the past.

Forgetting the pain of the past in order to recall the unexpected up-shot.

She closes her eyes and breathes in wearily, letting her shoulders slump slightly as she leans her head against the cold, impersonal concrete, the burdensome weight in her chest seemingly lighter for the first time since the freak incident, her thoughts quieting down to allow her some semblance of peaceful reprieve, even in her bleak situation… even through the unpromising darkness of her cell.

Her breath unwinding, it is only a matter of time before Charlene allows herself to succumb to the darkness of slumber, inviting and comforting for the first time in almost a year. She falls into a dreamless sleep, still holding the plastic replica in her hand.

When she wakes up the next morning, she is lying on her side and it is to the almost foreign feeling of having just had the most peaceful sleep. A soft, rested sigh escapes her lungs, and she trails her gaze down automatically. She doesn't move, but she does open her hand to stare at the tiny memento Ryan Wolfe had given her on the evening of Thanksgiving.

And she smiles… _thinly_.

But she smiles.

She knows she has been forgiven, unmerited as it was. And she murmurs a soft prayer of thanks and heartfelt gratitude to the extraordinary CSI, who had given her something so unexpected, something that she knowingly didn't deserve and could never in her lifetime earn – his genuine forgiveness… and a note of thanks for the unusual paradox that is the nail.

Closing her hand once again, Charlene Hartford breathes out a quiet sigh, clutching the miniature reminder securely to her chest, close to her heart, where she'll always recall to forget and forget in order to remember.

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**THE END**

**A/N: **Yeah, I know… Ryan really isn't in this chapter, though it talks about him some (and Eric, his 'someone'). I didn't really plan on writing this part using Charlene's POV, but that's the way the plot penguin demanded that I write this. So, now I want to know… Did it work? Tell me what you think. My depressed plot penguin wants to know before I send it to a shrink.


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